The Free Spirit of Rohan
by elfluvr1
Summary: AU In the gathering darkness, is there still time to win personal battles and fulfill individual desires? REPOSTING due to Author error. If you've read before, nothing's changed.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **"The Free Spirit of Rohan"**

Author: elfluvr (a/k/a leeluvr2)

Summary: A/U After leaving Fangorn Forest, the Three Hunters meet a warrior who embodies the strength and hopes of Rohan. But in the gathering darkness, is there still time to win personal battles and fulfill individual desires? Action/Adventure/Romance.

Setting: Based mainly on the movies, the story begins in The Two Towers and runs through the book The Return of the King (contains spoilers). I've taken some liberties with character locations, and please forgive my attempts at adding some Elvish language to the story.

Disclaimer: All of the LOTR characters and place names belong to JRR Tolkien. Any original characters are my own.

Archive: and The Council of Elrond – anywhere else, please ask

Feedback: Please! It's always welcome

E-mail: Thank-you, Nienna! Your input, feedback and encouragement are what got this story written.

Ch-1 Rating: PG

_**Chapter 1 – A Rohan Warrior**_

Rohan. A vast, rolling sea of grassy waves crested with rock. Crossing this land of their birth, two horses easily bore the three riders. Occasionally they passed a small home or corral; desolate, lonely outposts even before the dark times. All were now deserted, their tragedies recent. There existed no other evidence of life along the trail. The patches of woods offered no birdsong. Absent were the herds of horses that should have roamed freely in the fertile lands.

The Man's thoughts returned to the events of that morning – the miracle that could determine the fate of Middle Earth. Gandalf was alive. Or rather, reborn. The tale was told of his fall through the depths of Khazâd-dûm, and his fatal battle with the heat and flames of the Balrog. His enemy was struck down, but Gandalf too had succumbed to an end of life, only to resurrect with a presence and aura hinting of ominous power. His return gave Aragorn new hope.

Upon setting out from Fangorn Forest, the wizard had bid the three hunters to ride in haste to Edoras. Saruman's evil was strong in the heart of Rohan, and Gandalf feared it may already be too late. Offering a vague and mysterious explanation, he rode off on Shadowfax, with the promise of meeting them on the last day before entering Edoras – two days hence.

Riding toward a stream, they came upon the remains of yet another abandoned house. The Elf was first to see the group: a youth with his back to a remaining wall of the ruined home, sword held before him staving off a small band of Orcs. Snarling and taunting, the beasts judged his skill with the blade, and sought their best point of attack. So intent were they in their game, the riders' approach went unnoticed.

Suspecting a weakness, one of the Orcs moved in for the kill. Legolas' sure arrow flew perilously close to the youth's head, finding its mark in the Orc's neck. The beast's death-fall to the ground provided a moment of surprise the young swordsman needed, and he seized upon the opportunity.

Hilt gripped in both hands, he swung his sword at the nearest enemy, severing its weapon-arm above the elbow. Screaming in pain and rage, the Orc struck out at its assailant, but the youth was too quick. Ready for the attack, he lunged forward, piercing the beast's chest, and then pulled up on the blade to inflict further damage. He yanked back on his sword and the dead body fell beside the other.

Realizing their prey was no longer alone in his defense, the Orcs scattered toward the nearby woods. Aragorn rode into them, beheading one with a fluid swing of Anduril. The brief flight-song of Legolas' arrows heralded the deaths of two more. Gripping the rear of the saddle with one hand, Gimli leaned and swung his axe, finding solid connection in the back of an Orc.

The remaining beasts had reached cover in the thick undergrowth, and Aragorn did not pursue. No time could be wasted in a search. They needed to check on the youth and keep moving.

He turned Hasufel back toward the ruined home. Legolas and Gimli had already dismounted, but stood rooted in their position next to Arod. The swordsman was battle-ready, blade held in a position of challenge against them, awaiting its next enemy. Aragorn pulled up on the reins and swung off his horse.

"Young master, we mean you no ha–" freezing mid-stride, he realized that surprise more than fear of the sword had paralyzed his companions. This was no youth, and at close range, the breeches and tunic of a Rohirrim rider offered no disguise.

Pushing wind-tangled hair from his eyes, Aragorn studied the woman standing before him, trying to reconcile her with the youth he expected. She had the fair features typical of the women of Rohan. Her straight hair, the color of dark honey, was bound by a series of leather laces and hung like a thick rope down her back. Cheeks flushed from the effort of battle, the spark of suspicion glowed in her green eyes.

"What errand has such an odd group of companions crossing Rohan?" she demanded. At the sound of her voice, Arod's ears perked up and he walked over to give a slight nudge to her shoulder. "And riding our own horses," she glared at Legolas accusingly and shrugged off the horse.

"Lady, we…travel to Edoras – the horses were a gift from Èomer," Aragorn faltered. Slim explanation, even to his own ears; he knew it fell short of satisfying her.

"You know Èomer?" she asked, her stance easing only slightly at the mention of their benefactor.

"We met Èomer as we traveled on foot toward Fangorn Forest," Legolas spoke with the confidence and sincerity of an Elf with nothing to hide. "We trailed a band of Uruk-hai which had captured two of our friends. Èomer's troop had already encountered the Uruks and slaughtered them. He made a gift of these horses so we might seek our friends."

Gimli impatiently joined in to plead their case, "Lady, I am Gimli, son of Gloin. This is Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and he is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he gestured pointedly to the Elf and the Man. "We mean you no harm. You need lower your sword and share your name." Aragorn's eyes slanted to the Dwarf. With Gimli's abrupt skills as a diplomat, the Man sometimes wondered that he still lived.

She eyed the Dwarf, considering his words. Making her decision, she sheathed her sword at her side before speaking. "I am Dèorwyn, niece to Theoden King. Èomer is my cousin," she explained, meeting the eye of each in turn. "You must forgive me; my suspicions extend to all strangers. I owe a debt of gratitude for your timely arrival."

"You owe nothing, my Lady," Aragorn gave a gracious nod. "But, how is it you came to be lost from your party and out here alone?" he looked about, wondering if he was right to assume she was unaccompanied.

"I am not lost from a party," her chin came up defiantly. "I am a scout for Rohan. I traveled to the Eastfold and return to Edoras to report."

"A lady of the court of Theoden as a scout?" Legolas questioned skeptically. "I would not think the King would allow that."

"Theoden no longer knows nor cares what happens around him," Dèorwyn answered softly and looked away. A shadow crossed her features, too quick to be hidden by her lowered lashes. But as suddenly as the darkness had touched her expression, it was gone. "Theodred and Èomer know my skill and understand my desire. They prevent me from joining them in battle, but they allow me this."

Aragorn suspected she would be out here with or without their allowance.

As he considered her words of Èomer, a disturbing thought came to him. "When did you ride out from Edoras?" he asked, knowing that if she had been to the Eastfold, it may well be as long as a week.

"It has been five days now," Dèorwyn replied, a hint of question in her eyes.

His jaw clenched as dread began to settle in him. It should not be his place to tell her, and yet she could not ride into Edoras blindly. "Have you had no word of events in the days since?" he posed the question with little hope.

Suspicion crept back into her voice, "No…why do you ask?"

Aragorn hesitated for just a heartbeat before continuing. "Then you have not heard of Èomer's banishment," he softened his husky voice, seeking to also soften the blow.

"What do you mean, banishment?" Dèorwyn responded defensively, instinctively reaching to her sword.

"Èomer and several hundred soldiers loyal to Rohan ride north – banished under threat of death," Aragorn explained. He looked at her hard, awaiting her reaction. He did not think she would easily accept the news.

"Banished by whom? Theoden would never –" her breath caught and her eyes widened as realization hit her. "Grima," she whispered. Her gaze became unfocused, no longer seeing the three standing before her, but some distant vision. Absently she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked to her hand now resting casually on her sword. She rubbed her palm back and forth over the hilt as she gave thought to Aragorn's words.

Within moments, her head came up, her jaw set with pride and self-assurance. She met the Man's gaze. "Theodred will set this right," Dèorwyn spoke with confidence. "It is likely Èomer will have already returned by the time I reach Edoras."

Aragorn hoped she was right. If Gandalf's suspicions were correct, it was certain Èomer and his riders would be needed.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch-2 Rating: PG

_**Chapter 2 – A Beginning**_

"We cannot linger here further. Orcs will return in greater numbers," Aragorn spoke with a renewed sense of urgency. "We all ride to Edoras, and wisdom would have us travel together. Where is your horse?" he asked Dèorwyn, worried it may have run off – or been slaughtered.

Looking over her shoulder, she pursed her lips and produced a shrill whistle. Breaking from the cover of a large thicket on the other side of the stream, a chestnut mare answered the summons of her rider. "The beasts came upon us as I was dismounting. Aredhel shied and threw me," she confessed, clearly embarrassed to admit she had suffered such an indignity. Crossing the water, the horse slowed her pace and walked up to Dèorwyn, affectionately demanding a caress upon her muzzle.

She patted the mare's neck and stood on tiptoe to whisper something in her ear. Aredhel simply snorted and tossed her head. "Willful horse," Dèorwyn gave her a final pat and reached to remove a leather bag hanging from her saddle. "I have a need to fill my waterskin before traveling further," she said before ducking behind a wall of the house, headed to the stream.

The next several minutes found Aragorn in anxious motion, wiping Anduril clean then checking the tack on all the horses. Legolas had retrieved his arrows and now stood leaning against a wall, watching Gimli pace as he aimlessly swung his axe in time with his steps. The Dwarf looked again in the direction Dèorwyn had taken. "What takes a lady so long to fill a waterskin?" he grumbled.

"I will see what is keeping her," Legolas offered, the anxiety of the Man and the Dwarf beginning to affect him as well.

As he rounded the corner of the house, he saw her kneeling beside the stream with her tunic pulled away from her left shoulder. She was rinsing blood from her upper arm, but each time she splashed water, more blood returned.

Fearing the worst, Legolas ran to her side. "You have been struck by an Orc blade!" The foul poison used on their weapons would already be coursing through her. He cursed himself that his arrow had not been swift enough.

She looked up to him and shook her head, but did not stop her ministrations. "'Tis but a small scratch caused by the fall from my horse."

He knelt to examine her wound, his brow creasing with concern at the raw edges and free flow of blood. "That is more than a scratch. Aragorn is a skilled healer. I will send him to you."

"No!" Dèorwyn grasped his arm and held him beside her. "There is no time for the brewing of herbs. I shall bind this to stop the bleeding and tend to it once we reach Edoras."

Her gaze captured and held his; gone were her suspicion and fear. The dark green eyes that now appealed to him were honest, and filled with an innocence that reminded him of the Hobbits. The halflings had laid claim to his affection and devotion through their lack of deceit; this woman might easily do the same.

Far more intriguing to him was the feeling of…familiarity. It was as if he had looked into these same eyes hundreds of times – he knew exactly what lay behind them.

Legolas reluctantly looked away and nodded toward the pouch where she had removed fabric to bind her arm. "You are trained as a healer?" he asked, recognizing the herbs and tools within.

"Not trained," Dèorwyn gave a rueful smile, "but I believe I have learned just enough to keep my wounds hidden from my uncle."

As she turned to the struggle of bandaging her arm, Legolas reached to still her efforts. Covering her hand with his own, he felt her flinch at the unexpected touch. "I will do that for you," he soothed. Working gently to cover her wound, his eyes wandered to her bare skin. Her smooth, pale shoulder was already showing evidence of the bruise she would have as a result of her fall.

Legolas sat back on his heels to inspect his handiwork, but found himself studying more than her bandaged arm. Gathering her belongings, Dèorwyn's tunic slid a little further down her arm, offering a hint of the curves beneath. Uneasy at his reaction to her, Legolas stood and glanced toward the house where the others awaited. "We should go," he said, extending his hand to her. Wincing as she pulled the tunic over her shoulder, she refastened it and accepted his offer of assistance.

"_Hannon le_," she shyly thanked him as they headed back toward the horses.

"_Gellam_ _nîn_. You speak Elvish?" Legolas asked, surprised but oddly pleased to hear the words from her.

She gave a small shrug. "Regrettably, I know only the courtesies."

"Perhaps you will learn a bit more ere we reach Edoras," he smiled quietly, wondering why it seemed important to him.

Upon their approach, Gimli raised his arms in exaggerated relief and complained his frustration. "Finally! It must be a large waterskin to take two people and so much time to fill."

Dèorwyn's sidelong glance at Legolas warned against any discussion of her injury. She tied off her leather bag and prepared to mount, abruptly changing the subject. "So, what of your friends? The two you sought at Fangorn?"

"We did not come upon them. They had already met Gandalf who saw to their safety," Legolas casually replied while assisting Gimli climb into the saddle.

"Gandalf! The wizard who is known as Gray Pilgrim?" she exclaimed, delight brightening her eyes.

"You know Gandalf?" Gimli looked to her. The distraction broke his concentration and, losing his balance, he fell back to the ground. "Miserable beasts!" he cursed the horses while scowling at the Elf's attempt to bite back a smile.

Turning her head and suddenly intent on her horse's bridle, Dèorwyn choked down her laughter before speaking. "It has been many years since he last visited Edoras, I was still a girl," she recalled. "He…indulged a spoiled child. For that I will ever consider him a friend."

"We meet up with him in two days before entering Edoras," Aragorn told her while settling himself on Hasufel. He looked around at the group to be sure all were ready to ride. They had lost too much time – he would lead them for many hours before their next rest.

Continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Ch-3 Rating: PG (Ch 3 of 10)

_**Chapter 3 – The Calm Before**_

They had ridden long into the night. The moon was traveling the far side of its arc before the group finally stopped to make camp.

"Who will take the first watch?" Aragorn asked as he dropped his bedroll on the ground.

"I shall," Dèorwyn offered, tugging on the last strap holding her pack to Aredhel's saddle.

Aragorn hesitated before straightening from his task. "Lady, I do not think that is necessary. You have need of rest," he assured her.

"As do you all," she turned to face him, curious at his reluctance. Aragorn shifted uneasily. A tantalizing idea came to Dèorwyn and she decided to risk it. "Perhaps you think you recognize the usual sights and sounds of Rohan at night better than I?"

His initial surprise quickly turned to annoyance. As he opened his mouth to protest, she pressed one step further. "Or do you think because I am not a man that I suffer diminished hearing and eyesight?"

Aragorn's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her. He waited a few moments before answering. "I meant only that you have had a long ride from Rohan's eastern boundaries. You should take advantage of the chance for sleep," his voice was tight, betraying his effort at control.

"And so I shall. That is why I would take the first watch, so I may sleep uninterrupted for the remainder of the night," she reasoned calmly.

He looked to Legolas and Gimli, but found no support there – both inexplicably avoided eye contact. Giving them a disgusted sigh, Aragorn relented. "You have first watch," he shrugged.

Turning to lay out her bedroll, she hid the broad smile that came to her.

While the others determined their rounds and tended to their blankets, Dèorwyn walked a short distance from the camp, finding a seat on a large rock from which to set her watch.

"Aragorn meant no offense by his words," Gimli said from behind her.

She turned to him, a sly curl at the corner of her mouth, "I know." Her face split into a grin as he gave her a questioning look. "I sought only to have some sport with his discomfort."

Chuckling, Gimli glanced to where Aragorn was settling himself on the ground. "I am impressed. 'Tis a prank worthy of a Dwarf."

Acknowledging his compliment with a nod, Dèorwyn tried to sound repentant, "I shall confess and ask his forgiveness in the morning."

"Why confess, when you may yet have some fun with the game?" Gimli winked at his new-found kindred spirit.

Her laughter at his encouragement caused the others to look at them suspiciously, wondering what the Dwarf could have said to warrant such gaiety on her part. Lowering her voice, Dèorwyn leaned toward him, "I will see what mood the morning brings me."

Shaking his head with regret that she would waste such an opportunity, Gimli patted her shoulder before leaving. "Legolas has the second watch." Darkness hid her grimace of pain.

She squirmed to settle herself more comfortably, and looked to the heavens to admire the blanket of stars. It was a clear night, the moon four nights from full. The dimly lit plains of the Riddermark stretched before her and met the blackness of sky at the horizon.

Dèorwyn always felt a sense of peace out in the open space, especially during the stillness of night. She had tried many times to share this serenity with Èowyn, her sister by emotion if not by blood. But Èowyn held her own strong desires, and never understood Dèorwyn's longing to ride out of the city and explore the vastness of Rohan. She loved these lands, and the smell of the earth. Giving thought to the events of the times, hearing again the word 'banishment,' she felt a sudden sorrow at how much there was to lose – how much had already been lost.

Arching her back to stretch sore muscles, she rotated her bruised shoulder, trying to work out the stiffness. Her arm throbbed. Maybe Legolas had been right. Maybe she should have taken the time to do more than stop the bleeding.

"Is it very painful?" Startled, for she had heard no sound, she turned to find Legolas there beside her. The Elves' reputation for stealth was second only to that of their beauty. As the faint moonlight gilt one side of his face and cast the other in dim shadow, she realized he was exceptional among his kind – less delicate than most, more masculine.

If she had expected him to be smug about her discomfort, she was wrong. His eyes were soft and held nothing but concern.

"I can bear it, but you may have been right," she confessed, sounding oddly breathless. It was difficult to draw air around the wings fluttering in her chest. Quickly looking away, she wondered at his sudden appearance, and tried to remember if Elves were capable of reading the thoughts of others. She hoped he believed her reaction to be nothing more than surprise.

Legolas knelt down in the grass near her. Sitting back on his heels, he picked up a loose stone and rubbed his thumb along the smooth surface. "I am sorry for the news of Èomer," he said tentatively, as if testing her reaction.

"I fear for Èowyn," she said, purposely setting aside any concern for herself. "Grima is ever too near her. I do not trust his intentions."

"She is not wholly alone," Legolas reassured her. "Your confidence is well-placed in Theodred."

Looking away to the horizon, Dèorwyn said nothing further, hoping to dismiss the subject.

At her sudden withdrawal, Legolas cautiously tried a different topic. "You said you are niece to Theoden, yet cousin to Èomer. I thought the King had but one sister."

She closed her eyes and quietly gave a sigh of relief. "In truth it was my father and Theoden who were cousins," she replied, once again meeting his eye. "I am descended from another line, but the King has never treated me differently from Èomer or Èowyn."

"You speak of him with affection. He must be a great man," he said with a soft smile.

"He is…was," Dèorwyn's reply was wistful. She remembered the strong man of just a short time ago. "I can only hope that one day chance will allow you to meet him as he was."

Legolas hefted the stone he was holding then tossed it toward the horizon. "And what of your father?"

"My father was also a great man. He fought long and hard against the illness that claimed him three months ago." It bothered her that her voice still trembled when she spoke of him. She had cried bitterly the day of his death. Thereafter, determined to be strong as he taught her, she had shed no more tears.

"_Nai_ _nuvalye aderthadath aduial,_" he said solemnly. At the question in her eyes, he tried to explain. "An Elvish lament, 'though I am afraid it does not translate well: 'May you be reunited at your twilight.'"

Dèorwyn smiled at the sweet but sad sentiment. "It sounds beautiful in both languages," she assured him, surprised that her compliment seemed to please him. "I miss him still. He gave me much, and tolerated more than I care to confess."

"So, the 'spoiled child' you mentioned, the one Gandalf indulged…that was you," Legolas stated with certainty.

"Yes, of course." Dèorwyn felt embarrassed, but also relieved to turn to a different topic.

"What happened?" Legolas asked while settling himself into a more comfortable position on the grass, awaiting her story.

"It was my twelfth summer and I had decided to ride from Edoras to our southern boundary. Rumor had spread…" she paused as the memory came to her and she looked to Legolas, "that a company of Elves was traveling across Rohan and I greatly desired to see them," her voice trailed off.

She had not really thought about that day in many years. The memories and emotions now flooded back to her, filling her with the same longing she felt that day.

Dèorwyn remembered how important it had been to her to see the Elves, and her reasons why. As children, the girls of Rohan sang songs and chanted rhymes about the Elf-lords' strength, bravery and handsome features. Dèorwyn's dreams had been forged by those childhood games. But in the years since, she had come to believe that their words, and her desires, were nothing more than fantasy and myth. Now, looking at Legolas sitting so near, a voice inside whispered that maybe her dreams were real.

Clearing her throat, Dèorwyn looked to the sky as if searching for the memories. What she really sought was to quell the fluttering that had once again settled inside her. "My father refused me so I went to the King, believing he would give permission. Instead, he denied me, and as punishment for my defiance, he forbade me to ride any of the horses of Rohan until such time as my father granted me leave."

"What did you do?"

"Determined to go, I stole my father's sword, went to the stable to steal the King's horse, and rode south from Edoras," Dèorwyn explained matter-of-factly.

Legolas gave her a crooked smile. "And did you see the Elves?"

"No," she shook her head regretfully. "I came across Gandalf instead. As was his way in those times, he was riding from land to land and happened to be heading to Edoras. He convinced me to return with him, which was not hard to do since I had begun to question the wisdom of my choice."

She sighed. Telling the story now, she realized how careless she had been. "I never knew how he did it, but he was able to return the King's horse to the stable, and spirited my father's sword and me back into our home with no one suspecting anything amiss."

"So, your gift for finding trouble is not new?" Legolas' serious, scolding tone quickly gave way to a teasing smile.

Feeling a warm flush of color rise to her cheeks, she gave him a sheepish grin and replied, "No…not new." Dèorwyn felt giddy. Her childhood stories had not prepared her to be teased by an Elf.

Continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Special Acknowledgement: Nienna, I cannot begin to tell you how much I love what you did with this chapter! Hannon le, mellon nîn!

Ch-4 Rating: PG-13 (Ch4 of 10)

_**Chapter 4 – The Beast**_

"Do not wander too far off," Aragorn warned Dèorwyn. "We stop only briefly to rest and water the horses."

"Really? I had thought to walk to those hills and pick some flowers," she tried to look innocent, but could not keep the mischievous light from her eyes.

Aragorn just shook his head and gave her an indulgent smile. That morning, Dèorwyn had confessed and apologized, quite prettily, for having goaded the Man's temper. He had obviously forgiven her.

Their whole exchange left Legolas irritable – and wondering why. He had been drawn to Dèorwyn last night, sensing a loneliness and longing in her that he hoped to relieve, if only for a little while. But his need to comfort her had sprung from more than concern. From the moment beside the stream when his eyes locked with hers, it was as though he could see into her soul. She was open to him, and he could easily feel her within himself.

Legolas resisted exploring that openness. Dèorwyn's fierce strength and defiance, although attractive to him, could only mean trouble. She was a complication he did not need.

Even as he argued with himself, Legolas felt a small twinge of jealousy at her interest in Aragorn. Turning away to leave them to their games, he stopped short, almost tripping over Gimli. The Dwarf studied him with a knowing look. Legolas quickly erased the frown from his brow, and calmly stared back until Gimli walked away muttering something about distractions.

"Aragorn, I think we should all take some time to –"

Dèorwyn's speech was cut short by the sound of earth and rock rumbling. The ground beneath their feet trembled and her scream faded as the earth swallowed her. Legolas ran toward where she fell, but froze at Aragorn's command.

"Legolas, no! Do not go after her!" Aragorn warned. Even with the light tread of an Elf, loose dirt skittered into the opening where Dèorwyn had fallen. "We must find a way to get her out, not put you in!"

They heard groaning from the pit, followed by some Rohirrim words they all suspected were not commonly used by women.

"Dèorwyn?" Aragorn called, getting as close to the opening as he dared. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Dèorwyn answered, "I do not believe that I am. What is this place?"

"It must be a cave of some sort," Aragorn stated, carefully walking around the perimeter of the hole.

"I do not think it is a natural cavern," Dèorwyn called back. "The walls are too smooth – the shape too…formed, somehow."

"We must get her out of there," Legolas urged. "Gimli – untie the packs and bring me the rope."

"Gentlemen," they heard the cold slide of steel against scabbard. "There is something down here," Dèorwyn announced, "and whatever it is, I believe it to be quite large."

"Have a care, lad," Gimli said, handing Legolas the coil.

Tossing one end into the opening, Legolas called out, "Can you reach the rope?"

"If I were but six feet taller," Dèorwyn replied.

"Can you climb to it, or is there something you can stand upon?" Legolas asked, inching closer to the hole.

"This beast, if I manage to kill it!" she called, still trying to sound confident.

"Beast...what –" Legolas began, but his words caught in his throat as they heard a new voice.

"_Der-ween_…" The three looked to one another; a chill passed through them. The rasping voice sounded coarse and wet, as of lungs and throat filled with thick fluid.

"It spoke my name," Dèorwyn's words trembled. Gone were the attempts to hide her fear.

Legolas frantically pulled the rope back, then knelt and began tying it about his ankle.

Turning, Aragorn asked, "What are you doing, Legolas? The rope is too short."

"Six feet. She said she needs just six feet more. You will lower me head first, and maybe she can reach my hands."

"I do not like this," Aragorn said. The Elf's look allowed no debate. "Go!" Aragorn waved, grabbing the rope.

Legolas lay flat on the ground and began to inch forward. As he drew near, loose soil fell into the hole. Sliding the remaining distance, he looked over the edge, and immediately saw Dèorwyn standing on the far side of the cave in the rim of light. She was holding her sword in front of her, facing the shadowy area where he could not yet see. Taking a deep breath, Legolas slid over as Aragorn and Gimli bore his weight on the rope.

It was then Legolas saw it – a horrible, twisted creature that could not possibly have been of natural creation. At least eight feet in height, its yellow eyes glittered in the dim light. The face was human-like, but horribly deformed. On one side, the mouth was permanently drawn back toward its ear, revealing yellowed and broken fangs. Although its head was hairless, tufts grew from the points of its ears. One arm was a thick, meaty version of a human's, but the other was covered in golden brown fur, like the rest of its body. Where there should have been a hand and fingers, six-inch claws moved in a grasping motion, in time with its slurping breaths. "A malgorog," Legolas murmured.

The beast did not even look at Legolas, but kept its malicious golden eyes fixed on Dèorwyn. Claws clicking together, it began to move.

"Dèorwyn, come to this side where I can reach you," Legolas said.

She appeared not to hear him. Still holding her sword in front of her, Dèorwyn stared transfixed at the beast now approaching.

"_Der-ween, come to this side where I can reach you_," the malgorog mimicked, slowly moving across the shadows of the cave.

"Dèorwyn! Resist him! Do not let him put you under his spell." Dangling from the rope, Legolas moved his hand to the knife in his belt.

"It will not come into the light, Legolas. I am safe where I stand," Dèorwyn said, as she began to lower her sword.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, "It is preying on her mind. You must get her out, now!"

As more rock skittered down around him, Legolas knew he had to break the trance the malgorog was weaving around Dèorwyn. Withdrawing his knife, he looked at the beast. A thick black liquid was now dripping from its foul mouth. If it attacked, the poison would quickly sluice Dèorwyn's veins and within minutes, she would be beyond even Aragorn's healing skills.

As the malgorog moved closer, Legolas began to whisper, "Let your heart hear me Dèorwyn. Hold to your strength…release yourself. Hear me…come to me Dèorwyn. _Tul_ _nîn vana…_"

Dèorwyn suddenly shuddered and shook her head as if to clear it. "Legolas?" she gasped, glancing up at him then back at the beast.

"Come, Dèorwyn!" Legolas said, and held out his arms to her. This time she did not hesitate, and immediately ran toward him.

But as soon as she turned, the malgorog lunged. Legolas' knife landed in one of the glaring yellow eyes just as the creature grabbed Dèorwyn. Lurching back in pain, its claws ripped through her tunic, narrowly missing the flesh beneath.

Dèorwyn reached for him and Legolas was able to grasp her under the arms. "Pull!" he yelled up to the other two.

They began rising and the beast lunged again. "_Der-ween_!" it screamed, jumping up and throwing its powerful arm out in what would have been a fatal arc of claws. But they were now too high and the malgorog just barely scathed the sole of her shoe. Screaming and crying pitifully, it fell back to the floor of the cave.

Nearing the top, the ground began to give way, crumbling in upon itself. "Hurry!" Legolas yelled. With a final effort, Aragorn and Gimli pulled them from the earth, and slid them along the grass a safe distance from the hole as the edge broke away and tumbled into the cave.

Dèorwyn and Legolas lay flat on the ground, each staring blankly at the sky. Aragorn and Gimli sat a short distance away, trying to catch their breath. All was still. The beast's keening cry had stopped.

Dèorwyn's head was on Legolas' shoulder. He could feel her shaking uncontrollably.

When she sat up and hugged her knees to her chest, Legolas moved to kneel beside her. Sliding his arms around her, he cradled her to him until her trembling passed. His hand gently stroked her hair.

"What was that?" Dèorwyn asked when she finally trusted herself to speak.

"Some mutant creation of Isengard," Legolas replied.

"Or Mordor," Aragorn added grimly.

"It knew my name," Dèorwyn whispered shakily, despite her efforts for control.

"It heard us call to you, Lady," Gimli said.

From the pit, the beast's cries began again, as if understanding that they spoke of it.

Dèorwyn pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block the hideous cries. "I should have killed it the moment it crawled out from hiding."

Legolas looked to Aragorn. The Man tilted his head, signaling that the choice belonged to Legolas. But it was no longer a choice. The Elf had already decided – he would do this for her.

Without looking down at Dèorwyn, Legolas stood, retrieved his bow and quiver, and walked back to the edge. Taking his archer's stance, he looked into the beast's lair. The creature was lying on the floor of the cave, rocking itself back and forth as it wailed.

As soon as it saw Legolas it began to snarl, the black venom now oozing out of the side of its mouth in a steady stream. Standing to its full height, it taunted, "_Such a mighty Elf…so brave to threaten from up high_."

As he looked at the beast, Legolas hesitated. Although skilled in battle and self-defense, he did not like to kill.

"_Yes_," the creature hissed, its lone eye gleaming at the Elf's reluctance. It was then Legolas saw the piece of Dèorwyn's tunic in its claws. "_Der-ween_…" it rasped, and rubbed the torn material over its deformed face. "_So_ _sweet…ask her to come near so I can have another taste_."

Legolas needed no more than one arrow.

Continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Ch-5 Rating: PG (ch 5 of 10)

_**Chapter 5 – Arrival at Edoras**_

There would be no rest that night. Time had been lost. The appointed hour for meeting Gandalf was drawing ever nearer, while the place was still too far off.

They pushed their horses, and themselves. Dèorwyn rode as if wind and distance could erase the horrors of the afternoon.

The first golden light of dawn at the horizon was a welcome sight. Tentative at first, the pale glow quickly strengthened and washed the plains in a brightness that gave promise to the new day.

The group stopped at the crest of a hill, a valley stretching before them. In the distance, the hilltop city of Edoras could be seen. Like a taut rope when given slack, Dèorwyn felt herself relax at the sight of home. She prayed for Èomer's return, and knew she needed to talk to Èowyn – and Theodred.

In the east, the morning light revealed a white gleam. All turned to watch as it moved across the valley. Gandalf and Shadowfax quickly covered the distance and climbed the hill to join them.

If he was surprised to see Dèorwyn, the wizard gave no indication. "And what ill fate has you traveling with this imp?" Gandalf gave her a gentle smile. Behind the affection in his eyes, there was question, as though sensing something in her that did not belong. "It is good to see you, Dèorwyn."

"And you, Gandalf." Relief swept through her. His presence offered a sense of security she had not felt in a long time. It was a comfort she sorely missed.

"I was sorry to hear of your father," Gandalf said, still studying her intently.

Dèorwyn lowered her eyes and nodded to the wizard, accepting his sentiment of condolence, but she said nothing.

Throwing back his shoulders and gathering his reins, Gandalf looked at the three hunters. "Let us see what can be done to relieve Theoden's suffering."

Upon their arrival at Edoras, Dèorwyn was shocked at the dismal reception, and the downcast mood of its citizens. She had known before leaving a week ago that the people despaired. Seeing the city afresh through the eyes of their visitors, she realized the depths of Rohan's downfall.

Dèorwyn climbed the steps to Meduseld with them. No amount of argument with Hama could prevent her from also being disarmed. Explanation was given that none but the King's guard may enter the hall with weapons. Most of those guards were the ones known to be loyal to Grima.

Standing to the side in the great hall, she watched spellbound as events played out before her. A mixture of fear and awe held her a captive witness to Gandalf's power as he released Theoden from Saruman's evil.

Èowyn did not even realize Dèorwyn's presence until they all ran out to the portico when Theoden evicted Grima. While the disgraced advisor pleaded for mercy, Èowyn slipped her hand into Dèorwyn's, and they now stood together watching as Aragorn stayed the King's sword.

Grima scrambled away and rode out from Edoras leaving Theoden to scan the crowd kneeling before him, searching for the one face he most desired to see. "Where is Theodred? Where is my son?"

Dèorwyn also looked about her. Events had happened so quickly she had not realized his absence. She felt Èowyn's grip tighten and Dèorwyn turned to her. Tears streamed down Èowyn's face; her eyes were locked with Theoden's as he climbed the stairs to the portico.

A premonition of what was coming left Dèorwyn light-headed and a knot of dread grew in her stomach. Cold fear wound its way through her.

"Èowyn?" Theoden questioned. A sob escaped her and, with no further words, the father knew his answer. "When?" he whispered.

"They rode out five days ago," Èowyn gently said through her tears. "Orcs ambushed them and Theodred was badly wounded. Èomer brought him home," her voice broke on the last word. She finished with great effort, her words barely heard, "He died last night."

Theoden worked to swallow the lump in his throat, struggling to maintain composure as he asked what he most needed to know. "Did he suffer much?"

"He was never conscious," Èowyn sobbed. "I do not believe he suffered."

Dèorwyn could listen no more. Her heart was pounding and the need to gulp air consumed her. As if fists closed around her throat, she could not breathe. Pulling her hand from Èowyn's grasp, she ran into Meduseld while behind her someone called her name. She heard Èowyn cry, "Do not follow her!"

She ran to the hallways designed for service entry and there she found a cool, dark passage. Her chest heaving as she sucked air into her lungs, Dèorwyn leaned her back to a wall and slid down to sit on the hard floor. Hugging her knees to her chest, it began.

Slowly she broke. Her body shook with silent crying, giving way to sobs of grief as pain and guilt swept through her. She should have been here; perhaps she could have offered some comfort. That opportunity, and the chance for a final farewell, had been missed by mere hours.

Legolas worried that he had not seen Dèorwyn since she ran into the royal hall that afternoon. Èowyn had been adamant that he not follow her, insisting she needed to be alone in her grief. He was suspect of Èowyn's reasons, believing there was more to her protection of Dèorwyn. Now, he wondered if he had been wise to listen.

They were in the great hall, listening to the children's story. Legolas studied the gaunt faces that betrayed much of the terror they had witnessed. He thought it likely these two were now orphans.

Èowyn spoke with the servants of the hall, requesting food and drink, warm blankets, and a healer – both children had injuries. Listening to Gandalf and Theoden debate, Legolas did not even notice the servants who entered the hall to fulfill Èowyn's requests.

Standing protectively near his two friends, the Elf became aware of a sadness in the hall that was palpable to him – it filled his senses and drew his attention.

He looked to the woman carrying a healer's leather bag. Wearing a dress similar in style to Èowyn's, its shade of green recalled to him the woods of his homeland. Her long hair was unbound save for a few strands held from her face by the silver circlet upon her head.

When the dark green eyes met his, he realized with a start that this quiet, beautiful woman was Dèorwyn. The Rohirrim scout who had intrigued him from the beginning, was now transformed into a Lady of grace and elegance. At the look of pain in her eyes, he felt his carefully-built resistance begin to crack.

He knew he should be listening to the debate going on around him, and when he dragged his eyes to focus on Theoden, Legolas saw him advancing toward Aragorn. Uncertain of the King's intentions, he straightened from where he leaned against the column, prepared to defend the Man if need be.

But defense was not needed. Theoden's only intent was to assert himself as king. His decision was final. They would to flee to Helm's Deep and its promise of safety. Gandalf glowered in anger and frustration, believing they fled willingly into a trap. He said nothing more to Theoden, resigning himself to accept the King's angry dismissal of his and Aragorn's counsel.

Continued…


	6. Chapter 6

Ch-6 Rating: PG-13 (ch 6 of 10)

_**Chapter 6 – Helm's Deep**_

The journey to Helm's Deep had been long and costly. Many fine warriors were lost in the attack by Orcs and wargs; Aragorn among them. As Legolas stood at the cliff searching the rushing waters far below for any sign of his friend, he struggled to accept the loss. Death and grief were becoming all too common to the immortal; the unfamiliar act of mourning all too frequent.

Upon arriving at Rohan's solid rock fortress, Gimli bravely took on the grim task of advising Èowyn of Aragorn's fate. Her attachment to the Ranger was plain for all to see, and in her grief, Èowyn turned to Dèorwyn for comfort.

Dèorwyn. Since Edoras she had been uncommonly quiet and subdued. Her eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and the shadows beneath turned them an impossible shade of dark green. She did not speak of the mutant beast nor the loss of Theodred, and Legolas worried that she did not seek solace.

Once again walking the Keep, studying it for strengths and weaknesses, Legolas became aware of a stirring among the crowd – murmurings quickly turning to shouts of joy. Not believing the rumors, he ran to the center of the disturbance. There he saw Gimli, unabashedly embracing Aragorn. The Man had returned. Through luck or fate, Aragorn had survived the fall from the cliff. He brought with him news of the approaching horde. Saruman's army would be here by nightfall. Battle preparations were escalated, and the women and children were being directed to the caves for protection.

Legolas sought out Dèorwyn before it was too late. He did not know how much he wanted to share with her, only that he needed to speak with her. But a pang of regret washed through him, and his steps faltered. He knew he must find Aragorn and somehow make things right. Their earlier confrontation was still raw.

Despairing at the sheer imbalance in number of warriors, Legolas had voiced his belief that Rohan would fall. Aragorn angrily pledged his allegiance to the Rohirrim, but behind his look of defiance, Legolas thought he saw hurt and disappointment. The Man had turned and strode off leaving Legolas staring after him, regretting his lack of faith. The Elf debated which direction to take, then made his decision.

He found Dèorwyn sitting on a rock parapet, leaning against the high wall abutting it – fast asleep. She was once again wearing the tunic and breeches of the Rohirrim. He feared she intended to join the battle, and wondered how best to dissuade her.

Sitting beside her, he gently slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. Dèorwyn stirred only slightly, settling her head upon his chest and giving a soft sigh. Exhaustion returned her to sound sleep.

Leaning against the wall behind him, he cradled her. They had but a few hours remaining before the attack. He would stay until the last possible moment before he had to leave, but he did not have long.

A figure stopped and stood before them. Legolas looked up to see Theoden staring at them, his eyes filled with question and doubt. "Dèorwyn means much to me," Theoden spoke softly, but his warning was clear.

"And to me," Legolas met his gaze openly, feeling no need for explanation nor apology.

But the king was not ready to abandon the fight. "She has seen much loss in a short time."

"Let us hope she sees no more," Legolas replied. Theoden silently studied him, weighing the Elf's sincerity. His expression relaxed as Dèorwyn stirred, their conversation rousing her from sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she looked at Legolas in confusion.

He smiled softly. "You looked in need of a pillow softer than that wall." Watching intently, he saw the confusion in her eyes give way to gratitude, and a deeper emotion burning just beneath the surface.

It was then Dèorwyn realized Theoden's presence and stood before him, pushing away any embarrassment she felt at having been caught in intimate moments.

"I see Theodred allowed you much during my…illness," Theoden studied her attire with a keen eye, but disapproval was not evident. "Dèorwyn, I will have you protected."

She opened her mouth to protest and declare her intent to fight, but Theoden straightened to his full height, and his stern look warned her to broach no further argument. "Go to the caves with the women and children," he commanded. Immediately, as if regretting his harshness, his tone softened. "They may yet have need of your sword ere the night is through."

His words caused a chill to crawl across her skin and settle coldly around her heart as their meaning seeped into her – it may be that none would survive the night. Unintended, her eyes darted to Legolas now standing behind him, then back to Theoden, searching for reassurance but finding only grim affirmation of her own fears.

"Say your good-byes," Theoden gestured over his shoulder. He turned to leave her and resume his duties as king over the thousands gathered in the Keep. But Dèorwyn grasped his hand before he could go and kneeled before him.

Bowing her head and with trembling fingers, she raised his hand to place a kiss of tribute upon it. The sting of tears threatened, but she refused them, determined that he should see her strength and devotion, not sorrow nor despair.

Briefly he rested his hand upon her head, and then he was gone, lost in the throng of his people.

Legolas placed his hand on her shoulder. "I will walk with you."

As they wound their way through the masses toward the entrance to the caves, the shouts and clangs of war preparations hammered on Dèorwyn's senses, building a layer of hopelessness atop her fear.

Èowyn was already at the caves talking with a small group, one of them a young woman crying inconsolably – someone's daughter, or perhaps a young betrothed. Èowyn hugged the girl to her shoulder, and her eyes met Dèorwyn's. A silent nod between them served as acknowledgement of their duty.

"I must join Èowyn in affording comfort to these women," Dèorwyn looked around her in desperation. "But I do not think I have any to offer."

Legolas grasped her shoulders and turned her to him. "You have suffered great loss and borne it with a strength you will need to draw upon if you are to offer comfort to them," he nodded toward the group surrounding Èowyn. "But Dèorwyn…this moment with me, before going to them, let me be your strength." The grip on her shoulders tightened and his eyes gleamed with an undeclared emotion.

"You have grieved in silence more than need be. If you cannot open yourself and draw strength from others, you abandon yourself to hopelessness," he lightly shook her, willing her to listen to him.

"I too allowed despair to overtake me," Legolas shared. "I challenged Aragorn, believing all was futile."

He paused, again filled with regret that he had doubted this Man, the would-be king, who had safely led them through so much peril. "I realize now we must trust in him. Aragorn's strength and his destiny are what will see us through this night. By accepting that, I have found something I feared was lost." Legolas' eyes bored into hers. "_Han mathon_ _estel._ I feel hope."

He studied her, searching for the moment when she would understand what he asked. "_Estelio_ _meleth nîn._" Legolas appealed to her. "Trust me."

Still she hesitated. Even as a child, she had learned it was best to trust in her own strength. The intentions of others could easily weaken and fail. Would he be any different?

It was then she saw it in his eyes – acceptance. Believing he sought something she would not give, perhaps could not give, he would ask no more of her.

Legolas gave a resigned sigh. "I must find Aragorn." He hesitated a brief second before releasing his grip on her shoulders. '_Trust me,_' his words echoed. He was leaving.

"No!" she gasped, sliding her hands to his shoulders and around his neck, weaving her fingers into his pale strands. His response was immediate as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. Cradling her head, his lips came down on hers.

She clung to him desperately as his mouth slanted across hers. His kiss claimed her, demanding possession and she willingly surrendered. She pressed herself to him, needing the feel of his strength

His tongue teased her lips, seeking entrance. She opened to him, greedily accepting the slick flesh that explored and tasted her mouth. Her tongue wrapped around his, chased him when he left her, and savored him as he gently sucked and swirled around hers.

When his lips left hers, Dèorwyn's whimpered protest broke in a shuddering sigh as she felt his warm breath on her neck and his soft tongue licking the shell of her ear. He kissed a path down the column of her throat to the hollow where her pulse raced.

Grasping a fistful of her hair, Legolas groaned and buried his face in it, breathing deeply of its scent. Suddenly, the space around her was empty and she knew he was gone. She opened her eyes to see he had already gained the stairs to the armory where he would seek Aragorn. As the last glimpse of him was lost, hope filled her.

Before finding Aragorn, Legolas allowed himself the luxury of final thoughts of her. The taste and texture of her remained with him still.

He regretted not sharing all with her: '_Estelio_ _meleth nîn._' Trust me, my love.

Dèorwyn had not felt protected in the caves of Helms Deep, she felt trapped. Throughout the night, sounds of the battle had echoed off the walls, and the women and children were helpless, waiting to see if friend or enemy came for them.

Morning brought with it the Rohirrim victory, but celebration was quickly replaced with horror at the death and carnage that greeted them.

Everywhere the dead and wounded lay, and she had frantically searched for him, stopping at each body crowned by blonde, Elven hair, hoping not to find him there. It seemed a lifetime passed – she was beyond despair and already grieving her loss.

"Dèorwyn," she heard her name as in a dream, faint and distant behind her. Certain that her pained soul was playing tricks and not daring to believe, she slowly turned in place to see what ghost called to her.

There among the wrecked and ruinous remains of the battle stood Legolas. Her tired eyes focused on this magical being, seemingly arisen from the dead surrounding her. A sob rose in her throat, threatening to choke her.

She ran toward this specter, real or imagined. He caught her in his embrace.

Continued…


	7. Chapter 7

Ch-7 Rating: PG-13

_**Chapter 7 - Followers**_

Riding out from Helm's Deep into the Deeping Coomb, Legolas reined in his horse and turned for a last look at the damage to the massive fortress walls. Despite the deadly accuracy of his arrows, the Uruk's suicide mission had succeeded in delivering the explosion that shattered the solid rock of the Keep. Believing themselves safer here than in Edoras, the people of Rohan chose to remain, but the gaping hole gave testament to their vulnerability.

Looking to the high tower of Helm Hammerhand's horn, he saw what he expected – a lone figure marking their departure.

In the moments before dawn, they had said their good-byes. There was no need for further gesture of farewell. Nodding grimly to the Dwarf riding behind as passenger, he turned away and urged his horse to a gallop, joining Aragorn on their long journey.

They traveled in silence, each reflecting on the uncertain future, but trusting in Gandalf's lead. The wizard rode ahead with Theoden, Èomer, and a troop of Rohirrim riders, while the three members of The Fellowship followed as rear guard – never more than half a day behind. They would ride hard on the final day and join the others for the confrontation at Isengard.

The day grew unseasonably warm and the plains of Rohan offered no respite from the heat. The brief stops at water sources provided little refreshment for riders or horses.

Under the bright sun, Legolas occasionally thought he caught a glint of something at the corner of his eye. Each time he strained to spy the source of the glimmer, there was nothing to be found. It gnawed at the outer fringes of his senses. An awareness, not of danger but of anxiety, pushed at him then retreated like a pacing beast – something followed and he needed to know what tracked them.

The sky colored from rose to purple as the sun set on the western horizon. Twilight turned to dusk before a Rohirrim scout returned to advise them to make camp for the night.

The three chose a spot within a grove of trees, providing concealment from watchful eyes. It wasn't until they established camp that Legolas shared his suspicions with the others. "Someone draws near. They have followed throughout the day."

"Legolas, the plains are wide and open to view for a league. It is not possible that anyone may follow and not be seen." Aragorn stated.

"Unless it be someone who knows the Riddermark well enough to set their own course," Gimli prophesied gravely.

Legolas stared hard at Gimli, knowing what he suggested, but denying the possibility. He unslung his bow from his back, grabbed an arrow from his quiver, and headed toward the source of his unease.

Aragorn and Gimli followed him through the grove to an area that gave way to a small clearing. Weapons at the ready, they stood side-by-side, concealed by the fringes of undergrowth.

Legolas betrayed the moment he felt the pursuer's approach. His spine stiffened and his chin came up as his Elf eyes strained to pierce the darkness and see what his senses had perceived throughout the day.

Suddenly, his arms dropped to his side, bow and arrow forgotten. It was her. The swell of his heart at the sight of Dèorwyn quickly gave way to a pounding staccato as his anger began to build.

For a moment, Legolas could hear nothing above the roar of his own blood. She was unreasonable and, worse, stubborn. Could she not see how she endangered herself?

Leaving Aragorn and Gimli staring after him, he broke from their cover to confront her. His sudden appearance startled Aredhel. As she reared in panic, Dèorwyn could do nothing more than gather her horse beneath her.

Stepping close to the pair, Legolas grasped the horse's reins beneath her bridle. His firm grip and soothing Elvish comforts immediately calmed the skittish horse.

Their eyes locked, Elf and woman – his angry, hers challenging.

"Are you so determined to seek death?" Legolas demanded. The heat of his argument surprised her, but served only to fuel her own anger.

Dèorwyn leaped off Aredhel to stand toe-to-toe with him. "No, I do not seek it! But I shall not live my life hiding in caves waiting for death to find me!" Dèorwyn stood her ground, her blazing green eyes not wavering from the Elf's brilliant blue.

Legolas closed his eyes and took a deep, controlled breath. As suddenly as drawing a mask over his face, his expression was impassive, his smooth Elven features revealing no emotion. "She is one of your kind, Aragorn. Counsel her." With a cool look, he handed her the reins before turning to stride purposefully into the woods.

His comment rang as insult to her ears. An angry retort formed in her mind, and she moved to follow him, fully prepared to defend herself and the race of Men.

"Wait, Lady!" Gimli stood to block her rush after Legolas. "He meant no insult. Fear for you colors his words." The Dwarf grasped her hand, pleading for patience on behalf of his impetuous friend. "Leave him be, Dèorwyn. His temper will cool."

"Dèorwyn," Aragorn's deep, calm voice joined in, "we rest here a few hours. Join our camp; he will return."

Reason won out over emotion, and she led her horse behind as they walked the distance to the well-concealed encampment.

Continued…


	8. Chapter 8

Ch-8 Rating: PG (Ch 8 of 10)

_**Chapter 8 – Legolas' Debate**_

While Aragorn and Gimli stoked a small fire and prepared what food they would have that night, Dèorwyn paced with frustration at Legolas' stubborn refusal to understand, and brooded that she had been caught in her pursuit.

"I have walked through leaf-strewn forests without so much as startling a bird! How is it he heard me?" Her pacing stopped as she turned to Aragorn, demanding explanation from him.

"He did not hear you, Lady," Aragorn offered in response, "he felt you." Her upset at the expense of his friend amused him, but he feared treating it lightly would prove to be a false move on his part. "He is, after all, an Elf," he shrugged.

Dèorwyn's mouth opened as if to argue, then snapped shut suddenly as the meaning of his words took hold. Seeing her stunned reaction, Aragorn could no longer hide a small smile nor the urge to act on his amusement. "And I believe his senses are all the more keen where you are concerned."

A blush colored her cheeks, and she turned away, trying to hide her embarrassment. When she looked back to Aragorn, her brilliant smile and the impish light in her eyes told him the storm had passed and she saw through his mischief. In that moment he knew, 'Legolas is already defeated.'

"I do not think I like being so disadvantaged," Dèorwyn returned the tease, her anger vanished.

"Trust me, Lady. The advantage is yours," he grinned at her.

Their meal was mostly silent – each looking expectantly to the trees, waiting. Aragorn offered to take the first watch, and posted himself on the edge of their small camp opposite where Dèorwyn and Gimli slept. Making himself comfortable, he risked a small amount of his dwindling supply of pipeweed, and lit his pipe with the smoldering end of a stick from the fire. While enjoying his first smoke in more than a week, he began to wonder how long it took an Elf's temper to cool.

He heard no sound nor saw movement, but Aragorn sensed Legolas' return and looked up to see him near the line of trees ringing their camp. Even as he stood motionless, his body betrayed the grace and strength of the Elves. Aragorn had always considered it an odd contrast that the fairest and most elegant of the races of Middle Earth should prove to be such ferocious warriors. He had fought beside Legolas innumerable times, always with a renewed respect for the lithe, efficient movements of the Elf in battle.

His gaze fell to the sleeping form that held Legolas' attention. The moonlight washed her honey-colored hair to a dull silver, and lit her delicate features with a soft, porcelain glow. The slow rise and fall of her chest caused a clasp on her tunic to catch the pale light and twinkle in time with the movement of each breath.

As Aragorn looked upon her, beauteous in the calm of sleep, he understood his friend's fierce inner battle: Elven duty against a more human desire. He suspected the Elf was losing.

"I would have her be away from here Aragorn…safe," Legolas finally spoke, interrupting the Man's reflective thoughts.

"In these times, there is no safe haven," Aragorn replied softly.

Legolas turned away from Dèorwyn to join his friend by the remains of the fire. Seated on the trunk of a fallen tree, his gaze was drawn back to her. She stirred in her sleep, the new position more fully exposing her pale throat. Legolas saw the throb of her heartbeat at the hollow and remembered the feel of that pulse beneath his lips. Anguish marred his sculpted features, and silently he sought relief from the torment of his indecision. Should she travel with them where he could know her condition at every moment, or should he turn her away and send her back to an uncertain safety with her people?

"We have traveled with her before," Aragorn reminded him. "She rides as hard and long as any of us. Her skill with a sword equals that of any man. And she has the desire and will to be here." The words, intended to reassure, offered little comfort.

"Legolas. What safer place for her than by your side?" Aragorn grasped his shoulder then stood to stir the ashes in the fire pit. "Whatever is to become of her, it must be decided here, tonight," he commanded without turning from his task. "We cannot continue the journey with this conflict."

Staring into the glowing embers, Legolas nodded absently – he knew this.

"Gimli and I are agreed," Aragorn continued. "We would not have asked for her company setting out from Helm's Deep, but now that she is here, we would have her stay." He turned to Legolas, and waited for the Elf to look to him. "The decision is yours."

Aragorn was right, the decision was his; but he also knew the choice was hers. Decide what he might, she would either return or continue to follow behind. Dèorwyn would choose her own course. Legolas nodded to Aragorn, acknowledgement of his friendship and counsel, then went to deliver his verdict.

He knelt on one knee beside her, loath to wake her from such peaceful rest. But there was no need for him to touch her or call out. She awoke and looked up at him, unsurprised by his presence.

"Come with me," Legolas stood and moved off toward the trees. She threw off her blanket, picked up her sword belt, and followed him.

He walked to the same spot where he had spent the last hours in silent argument. When he saw she had brought her weapon, Legolas could not suppress the feeling of pride that she was, indeed, a wise traveler.

Continued…


	9. Chapter 9

Ch-9 Rating: R

_**Chapter 9 - Choices**_

"If you are to remain with us, then know that we ride as companions, nothing more," Legolas began the debate. "You will be a peer of The Fellowship, and when it comes to battle, I must defend all equally. I cannot champion you above the others."

"I do not ask you to champion me nor to fight as two on my behalf. I can defend myself!" she argued.

"And what of this, Dèorwyn?" Legolas stepped up to her, so close she could feel his warmth, his body just skimming hers. "Can you defend against this? For, if you continue with us, then these are our last intimate moments. I shall guard myself, and you must do the same." Looking down at her, his jaw was clenched with determination.

Dèorwyn took an imperceptible step back, distancing herself from the seduction of his nearness. She needed to think clearly. "Legolas, you continue to see me as a trifling woman, with no understanding of the danger of these times."

"No, Dèorwyn. But I do not understand why you would defy your king and risk your life to be here."

"Saruman possessed my uncle, weakening his will and ruining his health to the very brink of death! Is that not reason enough for me to be here?" Her words were strong, but panic flicked through her.

He studied her, trying to fit together a puzzle and knowing she still held the key piece. "There is something more to be told."

She had not set out to deceive him. But her initial reluctance to share all with him, now felt like a lie. 'You will make me say it,' she thought, even as her mind sought frantically for escape. "Your ego would have you believe I am here for you!" Her last, hopeless argument; even she held no faith in it.

"No…that is not what I believe," Legolas said quietly. He simply looked at her, patiently waiting for her truth.

Dèorwyn turned from him and took a few paces, distancing herself physically and emotionally. She kept her back to him, not wanting to face him. "Since childhood it was understood – I was to be wed to Theodred," Dèorwyn confessed softly.

A heartbeat passed, then another. "You never spoke of this," he said. It was a statement, passing no judgment, but alarming in its lack of emotion.

"The union was arranged. I had no say in it," Dèorwyn voice rose with indignation. "I was traded to Theodred as though no more than a brood mare."

Growing into young womanhood, Dèorwyn had come to bitterly resent the arrangement. A choice was stolen from her. She felt like no more than chattel, traded for the comforts of the royal hall.

There had been many arguments with her father. He could not, or would not, understand that although she cared for Theodred, she did not love him. There was fondness, but no passion. Her heart longed to feel complete. He had dismissed her desires as frivolous and unworthy of his consideration, nothing more than her childhood dreams.

"While my father's health was failing, Theodred accepted my reasons for delay," Dèorwyn explained. "Thereafter, he became…anxious to be wed," her speech stumbled.

In fact, that had been the reason she rode out of Edoras that fateful time. Theodred was a handsome, strong young man, and many women of Rohan desired him. If they were to be wed, he wanted it to be soon – needed it to be soon.

He had found Dèorwyn in the stables that morning, grooming Aredhel. The horse was difficult with the stablemen; Dèorwyn was the only one she would tolerate.

Theodred's hints at their wedding plans began as teasing, but his frustration grew as she again tried to put him off. Frustration turned to anger, conversation to argument.

He had grabbed her and held her against the wall of the stable, pressing his body against her as his lips crashed down on hers. As she opened her mouth to protest, his tongue forced its way into her mouth, and she felt his need pressed against her stomach. It was a bruising kiss; intended to possess that which she would not give.

Her resistance had finally pierced his fog of lust and Theodred ended the kiss. Leaning his forehead against hers, he released a deep, trembling breath. "I am sorry," he whispered before releasing her and walking from the stables without a backward glance. That was the last time she had seen him.

"You seek vengeance for his death." Legolas' words brought her back to the present.

"No!" Dèorwyn spun around to face him. "I seek to control my own fate!" Searching his face for a clue to his thoughts, she cursed whatever Elvish ability allowed him to hide behind so much control. She began to pace, her tension and anxiety in need of release.

"I know my father loved me, and believed he had done well by me. In the end, I would not have denied his wishes – nor Theodred, if he remained committed to the union. But now…" her voice faded.

Dèorwyn stopped and turned to Legolas, seeking understanding and hoping to find it in his eyes. "I cannot sit idly by waiting for others to once again decide my fate. 'Tis better to die fighting for what I believe, than live with the remains left to me by the battles of others."

Sighing, Dèorwyn walked to him. She reached to trace the tiny braid that began at his temple and ran behind his ear. Her fingertips followed the clever design holding the pale silk of his hair from his eyes. Finding the sensitive tip of his ear, Dèorwyn softly caressed that which most obviously declared him an Elf. "For all your Elvish senses, you know so little of me," she whispered.

Legolas' eyes closed and his lips parted with a sigh of pleasure, stirring tendrils of hair on her cheek. He took a ragged breath. A groan escaped him as his hand came up to clasp her fingers and end the caress, only to begin one of his own. Light kisses on the soft underside of her wrist caused her heart to race, and when his lips found her traitorous pulse, the corners of his mouth quirked in satisfaction. "I know more of you than you wish to believe," he murmured, opening his eyes, now dark with passion.

He tugged on her hand, bringing her a step closer. As he grasped her waist to pull her to him, Dèorwyn placed her hands on his chest and felt the hammering of his heart beneath her palm.

Gently, his lips brushed hers, no more than a feather of contact. Again and again he offered the promise of a kiss, only to tease her with a light touch and a soft breath. All her senses narrowed, craving the feel of his mouth strong and firm on hers. A soft moan escaped her.

"Dèorwyn," he murmured against her lips before finally fulfilling the promise. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to the length of his body. His mouth slanted across hers with a fierceness she would have found frightening except for her equal desire. She opened her mouth, inviting the intimate invasion of his tongue.

Legolas loosened the bindings holding her hair, freeing it to his touch. Winding his fingers into the thickness at the back of her neck, he tilted her head to reveal her neck to his questing mouth. His senses were filling with her—her scent, her taste, her pulse. He felt her passion for him growing and it enflamed him.

He whispered Elvish words of endearment she did not understand. But his soft, warm breath on her skin, and the hard heat pressed against her, were evidence of their meaning.

Tenderly, but urgently, their hands explored each other. He caressed her softness and the curves that fit so well against him. Dèorwyn ran her hands down the hard planes of his chest and stomach then slid up his back, feeling the rhythmic flex of his muscles with each movement.

Legolas' hands were gentle as he undressed her, but his mouth was hot and demanding. His lips and tongue explored her, tasting the sweetness of her mouth and savoring the textures of her body.

Her explorations were inexperienced, but every touch of Dèorwyn's hands was like flame against his skin. He brought her with him as he kneeled. His mouth once again claiming hers, Legolas lowered her to the ground then lay with her. Their heat warmed the cool, loamy soil beneath her.

His body wanted to claim her, take her with a ferocity that would satisfy his burning need. But his heart ruled. Legolas made love to her patiently, tenderly. He was rewarded with her slow-building passion and her gasps of pleasure as she experienced each new sensation.

They found their rhythm and their movements became more urgent – need and desire pooled where their bodies joined. Just when he thought he could endure no more, Legolas felt her climbing to the edge. He covered her mouth with his, taking her cry of ecstasy in himself to mingle with his own. His release came and the wet warmth of his passion filled her.

Holding her close to him, their breathing calmed together. Their hearts slowed and gentled to begin beating in time with each other.

Still coupled with her, Legolas rolled onto his back and pulled her with him. As she lay spent upon his chest, he smoothed hair from her damp brow and softly kissed her forehead. The breath of her contented sigh flowed across his skin.

Dèorwyn stirred, and he knew it was time. They needed to dress and rejoin the camp – return to a world of growing darkness, where the tenderness of morning light was no longer guaranteed.

Legolas shrugged into the harness for his quiver and weapons. Giving a final tug on the strap, he paused to watch Dèorwyn where she sat fastening her boot. So beautiful, so determined – and so vulnerable. "This was a luxury I should not have allowed," he murmured.

Dèorwyn froze. Looking up at him, her green eyes were as round as coins. "What are you saying?" she breathed. "You regret it?"

"No," Legolas shook his head and smiled softly. "I will never regret this," he answered honestly. Dèorwyn stood, boots and belts forgotten. Walking to him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his chest, her ear resting over his heart.

He pulled her tight against him, wanting nothing more at that moment than to protect her. But in his heart he knew, safe keeping was not his to offer. "You will continue with us to Isengard," he said with a calm he did not feel.

"I did not think it would be otherwise," she said lightly, trying to ease his serious mood.

"But Dèorwyn, we cannot weaken again. We must swear to it," he demanded, ignoring her teasing tone.

"I swear," she agreed against his chest.

"And after Isengard you will do as Aragorn sees fit. Stay or go, it will be his decision. Time will not allow any argument."

"And if he believes it is right for me to stay?" Dèorwyn tilted her head to look up at him.

"Then I will accept that," he met her gaze calmly. Legolas wound his hand into her hair as he kissed the top of her head, and said nothing more on the subject.

He was confident Aragorn would see it his way. In this decision, she would have no choice.

Continued…


	10. Chapter 10

Ch-10 Rating: PG

A/N - Keep in mind, dear readers, that this story was written before the release of "Return of the King," while I was still totally enthralled with The Two Towers. This short chapter was based on the books.

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_**Chapter 10 – Remains of Battles**_

Legolas and Dèorwyn had been true to the oath they made that first night out of Helm's Deep. From that night on, they were fellow combatants, not lovers. Events happened so rapidly, there was no time to consider otherwise. One thing followed quickly on the heels of the other – all leading inexorably to war.

The confrontation at Isengard turned out differently than expected. There was no battle. The Ents had already seen to the destruction of Saruman's stronghold. The joy of that journey was in finding Merry and Pippin, alive and well, with all their Hobbit resourcefulness still intact.

Legolas, Gimli and all the Rohirrim returned to Helm's Deep with Aragorn where the forces of the Dunedain gathered to him. The Elf and the Dwarf steadfastly followed the future king through the Paths of the Dead, on to the battlefields of Gondor – and the finale at the Black Gate.

Aragorn made his decision – Dèorwyn and Èowyn were to remain at Helm's Deep. But the stubborn shield maidens, assuming the guise of young soldiers, joined the Rohirrim in the battle at Gondor.

It was now six weeks since the end of the war – the destruction of The Ring. Aragorn and his troops had departed immediately from the Morannon to the Field of Cormallen. There they remained while Frodo and Sam returned to health.

Six weeks since he had last seen her.

As they came to the crest of a hill, the Pellenor Fields spread before them. They could see the walls, towers and spires of The White City climbing the mountainside – glittering in the morning sun.

It was like a reward when Legolas saw Dèorwyn in the fields, working with Aredhel.

The poor horse had been scared witless by the sounds of battle and the war cries of men, beasts, and horns. The final damaging terror had come as Dèorwyn stood near Èowyn when she struck down the Nazgul. The black rider's breath had touched Aredhel, ending her sanity.

Dèorwyn had dedicated herself to healing and retraining the horse that had been her companion for so long; determined that she would again ride this now wild animal.

Legolas turned to look at the gift he brought her. Although no other horse would equal Shadowfax, this one could have been his offspring, so alike was she in appearance. He had taken to calling her '_Melethant_' – Gift of Love. Maybe Dèorwyn would keep the name.

From the high towers of the City, trumpets sounded, heralding the approach of the King. Their peals brought cheers of triumph and joy from the men of Aragorn's company. Near to Legolas, the King's clarion returned the call.

The blare of horns and the shouts of men rejoicing split the air of the quiet afternoon, sounding much as they had six weeks ago when the fields were filled with rallying cries to war.

Inexperienced in ritual or war, Melethant began to dance nervously, tossing her head against the lead. Realizing the loud noises were harsh on the ears of a spirited horse, Legolas quickly soothed her. He then worried about Aredhel.

Below their vantage point, Dèorwyn turned her back on her horse as she shielded her eyes and scanned the horizon, searching the ranks of the returning regiment for one golden head. Her heart leapt as she spotted Legolas, riding at the King's right hand. It was a glorious sight, banners unfurled and waving in the morning breeze. The sun glinted off armor and clarion. So entranced was Dèorwyn at the sight of the returning warriors, and her love for one in particular, that Aredhel went forgotten behind her. She did not see her horse rear in terror.

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Legolas chose to remain in the fields with Dèorwyn. At his insistence, Aragorn and his troops had ridden on toward Gondor.

Warm breezes from the south stirred the tall grasses, moving them in ripples that shimmered and sighed. Their sound mingled with Elf whisperings to create a soothing song.

Dèorwyn's head lay in his lap and Legolas gently caressed her cheek, tracing her full bottom lip with his thumb. Trailing his fingertips along her jaw and down her throat to the hollow, he found the pulse point that now was still. Her eyes no longer saw Legolas but instead reflected the light of the sky. Dèorwyn's final smile of love and contentment remained.

In her terror, Aredhel had reared and kicked out – her madness seeing threat instead of friend. The horse lay where she had fallen nearby, Legolas' golden-feathered shaft piercing her heart.

Distracted by Melethant, Legolas had not seen Dèorwyn's mistake until it was too late. This time his arrow had not been swift enough.

End


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